Silent as the Grave
by Whisker Biscuit
Summary: When Connor Cooper and his wife are found dead in their home, the result of a forced break-in and assault, Interpol is called in. The only witness is Cooper's eight-year-old son, found in a closet with a full view of everything. Nobody is really sure what to do with the kid, but that's just fine. Because young Sly Cooper doesn't know what to do with himself either.
1. Prologue

Jim McSweeney was used to being out of place in the world. Being a six-foot, muscular wall of a walrus – and an international criminal to boot – tended to make one stand out. He'd learned tricks over the years to make people glance his way and then lose interest. _Look, I'm unusual but that's about it. _It hadn't bothered him on a personal level in a very long time.

But here, in a no-name museum on the Ligurian coast of Italy, surrounded by gullible tourists and second-rate art, he felt that difference in full awkwardness.

Tugging at the itchy turtleneck hiding his body tattoos, Jim discreetly checked the folded paper in his front pocket. It was a note, written in the elegant cursive he knew could only belong to one person.

_Jim, please meet me in front of the statue that looks exactly like you. It's hilarious. – CC_

McSweeney stepped heavily down the halls, baffled at the labyrinth the museum was turning out to be. It really hadn't been this big on the outside. But as he passed another doorway, a happy cry had him turning right around to it.

"Seen-ie!"

It was a raccoon toddler, perched on his father's shoulders and reaching out to the walrus with pudgy little hands. McSweeney lumbered over and held out one hand, which the child high-fived alongside gleeful giggles.

"Hey kiddo, you're getting' big now, aren't you?"

The kit tugged at his father's cheek fur. "Look, Daddy! Seen-ie!"

"Good job, you found him," Connor Cooper said, his tone mellow liquid. He looked at the walrus and there was a quick upturn to his lips. His son's hands were still around his face. "You're losing your edge, Jim. Sly found you before you found us."

"Been a while since I've been in the game, you know that." McSweeney peered past his friend's shoulder and saw the stone walrus statue. It really did look just like him. "Same for you, if I'm not mistaken. What have you been up to?"

Connor's mouth evened into neutrality, and he glanced around before pulling the toddler's hands off and placing them at his ears instead. Sly grabbed a hold of them with an iron grip, but the elder Cooper didn't even wince.

"There's a kid's playpen near the museum's front, how about we catch up over there, yeah?"

It was phrased as a question, but the raccoon was already walking off in that direction, not looking back to see if his friend was actually coming. McSweeney let out a brief sigh before following at a leisurely pace.

The playpen wasn't much more than a fenced-in corner of the front room with a toy slide and a little table covered in crayons and coloring books. Connor set Sly down within its bounds and the kit wasted no time in crawling under the table, curling up in a fluffy ball.

"Kid's pretty flexible," McSweeney remarked as the raccoon joined him in leaning against the wall. They watched Sly bump a table leg and giggle as crayons rolled off.

"Yeah he is." There was a distinct note of pride in Connor's voice. "I started training him last month. Gymnastics and jiu jitsu, he's a natural."

"Already? You sure that's a good idea?" The walrus' voice lowered somewhat. "He's a little young, isn't he? Didn't he just turn three in –"

"Don't. Don't start this. You agreed you wouldn't get on my case about this."

"I didn't mean any disrespect, Connor, you know that." McSweeney pinched the bridge of his nose. "It just…seems pretty early for a child. Could get himself hurt if he's not careful."

"It's not him I'm worried about," the raccoon growled, folding his arms. He fell silent as Sly crawled out from under the table and started paying more attention to the coloring books. "I started practicing at six, and my mother at five. He's fine, I know what I'm doing."

"Alright, alright, don't get your tail in a knot." The walrus tilted his gaze towards his friend. "I haven't seen either of you in a while, I'm gonna get worried. How's the missus?"

"She's just fine. She misses you, wants to see you again."

"Is she here?"

"No…no, she doesn't know you're here. She ah," Connor shifted in his spot. "She doesn't know we're here either."

A beat.

"Connor!"

"Lower your voice!"

"I won't!" He did anyway. "What are you doing, pulling something like this? I thought you promised to be more honest, wasn't that the deal? I stay out of your parenting, you open up to your _own wife_."

"She knows Sly and I are here in town," the raccoon asserted, "she just doesn't know it's at this museum. It's, uh, Cooper business."

"Then what am I doing here?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually." He shifted again, a little closer, and looked around the room before pulling out an old, crusty document from his jacket. He handed it to McSweeney, who opened the top and peeked at the title. He stiffened.

"Connor."

"I know it's short notice, and I'm sorry to dump it on you like this, but I need you to take it."

"Connor, I can't do that."

"You don't even have to keep it with you, just – just hide it somewhere and don't tell me where and everything will be fine. Please."

The walrus opened his mouth to argue, then took a closer look at his friend. Connor was getting twitchy. Connor was _never_ twitchy. He closed his mouth and sighed again, brushed two fingers against the title as if to make sure it was real, then stowed it nimbly away under his turtleneck.

The raccoon's face visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Jim. Thank you so much."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved a hand gruffly. "I don't understand why you asked me to do it though, I'm not the Brainiac. Wouldn't he be better for –"

"He and I haven't, been speaking much lately," Connor interrupted. His words were careful. "We had a disagreement about…whether my inheritance applied to both of you as well, or just the Cooper family. I said. Mmm. We both said some things in the heat of the moment that damaged some pride. So I, thought it would be easier if…for all of us, if you kept the map safe."

McSweeney waited, but his friend refused to say anymore on the subject. Instead, the raccoon turned towards the playpen just in time to catch Sly already halfway over the child fence.

"Hey, no no no! No you don't!" He rushed over and plucked the toddler up easily, holding him under his armpits. "What did I say about climbing without asking first?"

"Not to."

"Then what were you just doing."

Sly's response was a wide grin that had the walrus chuckling hard.

"Better watch yourself Connor, he's got your smile! Haha, we're gonna see the smirk soon too, I can't wait."

To McSweeney's concern, his friend's brow furrowed and he hugged his son to his chest, deftly handling the wriggling child without problem. Connor looked over at him with something definite and sober.

"That's the other thing I needed to talk to you about, Jim." His voice was calm again. Neutral. "We're going to be travelling from now on. Often."

"Oh well. That's not so strange, you've always been a nomad. Just tell me the next time you'll be in Europe, we can get together then."

"No, that's just it," Connor stroked his toddler's fur. "We aren't telling anyone. About where we're going. I'm dropping off the map."

"You're serious?"

"Yes I am. I'm going to devote my full time to raising Sly, help him grow into his heritage. We've agreed that it'll be easier to do so if nobody can find us."

A shadow was forming behind Connor's eyes, heavy and full of grief. McSweeney looked at him.

"You're not talking about Interpol, are you?" There was a subtle tightening to the raccoon's mouth. His friend plowed on. "You know I can help protect you. Protect your family. He won't be able to hurt you while I'm there."

Connor shook his head with a rueful smile. "I appreciate you offering again, Jim, but the answer's still no. I don't…" He wavered only briefly. "I've already asked so much of you, I won't make you do any more. Please just keep the map safe for me. I promise I'll come out of hiding when Sly's old enough to fend for himself. My mother did it for me and we managed just fine."

The grief was heavier now, both of them thinking about the raccoon, suddenly alone in the world at age twenty-three. McSweeney let out a huff and came up to his long-time companion.

"Guess this is a real goodbye then?" They clasped hands and bumped shoulders, mindful of the little kit between them. "You better keep that promise, Connor Cooper. I expect to see you in the flesh the minute this kid turns eighteen."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." The Master Thief laughed, hoisting Sly onto his hip as he walked towards the exit. "Don't get fat!"

"Don't get caught!" The Muscle Man called back. He chuckled as Connor's son twisted to look at the walrus over his father's shoulder.

"Bye-bye Seen-ie!" Those pudgy hands waved enthusiastically.

"So long, kiddo!" He waved back a little less enthusiastically.

Later that night, in a stroke of inspiration, McSweeney broke back into that little museum on the Ligurian Coast, to hide the Cooper Family Vault map in the walrus statue that looked exactly like him. Three days later, he had the image of the museum tattooed into his palm so he wouldn't ever forget where it was.

Five years later, he would stare at that same palm while watching international news coverage of a "truly horrific event" that "demonstrates the lawlessness of the criminal underworld."

As jaded Interpol agents would hold press conferences remarking callously that Cooper's life had finally caught up with him, Jim McSweeney would stare at that palm and weep.

* * *

**A/N: What have I gotten myself into.**

**So I was replaying these games recently and got reminded how messed up they were sometimes, especially considering Sly's origin story like holy crap, how do you get that under the censors?**

**Anyway, this will mostly take place before the events of the 1st game; Sly's time at Happy Camper Orphanage, how he met Bentley and Murray, and how he went from a traumatized child to the smooth-talking raccoon thief we all know and love. It's gonna be a bumpy ride, and I'll give content warnings before each chapter (although it shouldn't be too bad, hence the T rating).**

**Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the story!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Warning for brief implied violence and gore.**

* * *

The first real thieving lesson Sly's father ever taught him, when he was three years old, was how to be quiet. He'd thought this was dumb and not nearly as fun as robbing a bank, so he'd told his father exactly that. But instead of reprimanding his son, the elder Cooper only chuckled and sat him on his knee with the patience of a master parent.

"Silence is the language of thieves, kiddo," he told him gently. "How can you rob a bank if everyone knows you're coming? How can you steal someone's wallet if he can hear you behind him? What do you do if he turns around?"

"Hit him," Sly announced, chin held defiantly high. "Hit him and take it."

"You've been spending too much time with McSweeney."

"Nu-uh!"

Connor smiled at that. "Well, I suppose not. But if you were quiet, then he wouldn't turn around at all, and then you wouldn't have to hit him. Do you understand?"

Sly considered this point with solemnity only a toddler could manage. Then he blinked up at his father and nodded, mouth closed firmly.

"Good. Now it's time for you to learn how to never make noise. Starting…NOW!"

Connor had taken this moment to grasp his son around the waist and suddenly lifted him high in the air above his head. Sly shrieked in delight and wriggled with his arms and legs. His tail flickered every which way as he collapsed into giggles.

"Come on kiddo, I thought you were going to be quiet!" His father was grinning up at him, hands steady as rocks.

"No fair, no fair," Sly laughed, "Not ready!"

"Master thieves have to be ready for anything. If you get surprised or scared, and you make a lot of noise, then you get caught. I surprised you, but if you want to learn to be a master thief, you have to know when it's okay to laugh and scream like that, alright?"

"Okay Daddy!"

"Good," Connor brought his son down to his knee again. He grinned with all his teeth, and Sly mirrored the look with his own baby canines.

"Here we go."

* * *

Five years later, Sly doesn't remember much about that conversation except its most basic part; he has to be completely silent, right now, no matter what. Because that's what master thieves do when they're surprised, or scared, or hurting. That's how they survive.

That's how he will survive, in this little closet, as he watches his father get pinned down on their bloody living room carpet. As his mother's horrible screaming from the dining room stops with three muffled bangs and a wet choke. As something bigger than anyone he's ever seen taps iron claws against Connor's back and flips him over.

Sly doesn't make a sound as someone else breaks open the family safe and pulls out the Cooper family's heritage, the Thievius Raccoonus. He doesn't cry as the book is torn apart by five different sets of hands over his father's struggling body.

Doesn't scream when those talons decide his father shouldn't struggle anymore.

All he does is stay still as a statue – _don't move kiddo, movement makes noise and we don't __want to be caught _– as the five murderers leave just as swiftly as they came. He stays in that closet after that, not because he thinks they will come back, but because he knows now what death looks like, and if he steps out of his hiding place, he will have to acknowledge the reality of what has happened.

He's not enough like his father to do that.

* * *

When the local police office gets the call about a night disturbance in a nearby suburban area, they're mildly surprised. It's always been a quiet neighborhood on the edge of town, and the most recent call from out there had been for an ailing older rabbit who needed a quick pick-up to the hospital. They're even more surprised at the call's contents.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"I heard screaming next door!" The voice is almost hysterical. "And there was a big car in the street I've never seen before, and I saw, I saw something _huge_ fly into the sky – it blocked out the moon!"

The operator gets their address and name immediately, and promptly sends two officers to go out while promising the distraught caller that everything will be fine and to expect someone to arrive to ask them a few questions in person.

"What do you think it is?" Fangmeyer asks as he opens the driver's door, settling in behind the wheel.

"Dunno," McHorn shrugs, squeezing into the passenger seat. They pull out of the station. "Might be a domestic disturbance, with the screaming. Someone probably had someone else come pick them up, if there was a strange car."

"Yeah, sure, but what about the big flying thing? I've never heard of anything like that." The tiger keeps his eyes on the road, on the lookout for street signs.

"Who knows. The caller probably psyched themselves out, you know how people get." They both go silent for a moment and watch rows of houses pass by. "Don't forget, it's a blue house with gold trimmings. You got better night vision than me."

"Yeah, I got it."

They find the address of the caller with little trouble, then the house next door where the screaming supposedly took place. It's a modest little home on the end of the street corner with a plastic swing set in the yard, colored just as McHorn described. Light spills through the front entrance, and the rhino cop assumes it must be one of those full-glass doors.

He starts to get out of the car but is stopped by a fuzzy paw on his shoulder. He turns to his partner, who is staring at the house with sudden intensity.

"McHorn, call in for backup."

"What? Why?"

"The front door's been ripped from its hinges."

They call the station, backup is promised within five minutes, and the two officers step up to the doorway cautiously, on high alert. The door is lying on the floor just inside, and there's immediate wreckage throughout the hallway. Hanging portraits have been smashed to the ground, littering broken glass everywhere. A coatrack is on its side with garments strewn about. A low bookcase along the wall has been overturned, its books scattered and torn.

The first room to the left seems to still have the lights on, so the two pull guns out of their holsters and sidle quietly over that way, peering in carefully. It's the dining room.

There's a raccoon, a woman, slumped on the ground against a chair leg with three bullet holes through her body. McHorn goes as rigid as a bowstring. Fangmeyer holds his paw to his mouth as bile threatens to come up his throat. They both rush up to her and the tiger checks her pulse. Nothing. One of them brings the radio up and manages to call in a 10-79 with a trembling voice.

This is when they see the next doorway leading to the living room.

And it's here that they learn exactly whose house this belongs to, because the world-famous thief Connor Cooper is splayed out on the floor with his chest ripped open.

Fangmeyer can't hold himself together any longer; he staggers to the farthest side of the room and retches, leaning against the doorframe of a coat closet. McHorn is about to call this in as well, to report that they've found the corpse of one of Interpol's most wanted criminals, when he sees the tiger suddenly collapse to his knees.

"Oh my god. Oh my god."

"Fangmeyer, what is it? Did you find another body?"

His partner doesn't respond except to shake his head without turning around. Instead he pulls open the closet door all the way, and the rhino forgets to breathe.

A child stares back at them with tear-stained fur and shell-shocked eyes.

* * *

After that, things move very quickly.

Backup arrives just in time to find two haunted officers coming out of the house. The tiger is green through his fur and staggers to the nearest cruiser to ask for water and a forensics team. The rhino behind him walks solemnly through the yard, carrying a raccoon kit who clutches a very recognizable cane to his chest and won't look at anyone.

Within two minutes, the Police Chief orders the house to be sectioned off completely while they sort things out. Twenty minutes after that, he orders an evacuation of the whole street because curious neighbors and nosy townsfolk are drawing a crowd to gawk at this unusual occurrence. When a local news station pulls up just outside the evacuation zone, the chief calls for all present officers to declare an oath of silence until everything has been investigated thoroughly. Then the Force contacts Interpol.

Known only to the first few responders – and to the international detective they're informing over the phone – is the presence of Cooper's only child, who has been whisked to the nearest hospital in secret. He's miraculously unharmed, but they keep him there, in a private room with an officer guard, for fear that whoever had it in for the Master Thief might come back to finish the job.

They don't know his name or his age, but those are things easily found in records and birth certificates. What they're really wondering is how he survived this horrific encounter, how he managed to sit in a little coat closet and not give himself away.

They won't get this answer from him directly, but they're getting an inkling of how it was possible anyway. Because Cooper's son hasn't said a word to anyone since he was found.

He hasn't made any noise at all.

* * *

**A/N: I'm very sorry. I'm not sorry. I don't know.**

**This is probably going to be the worst chapter as far as violence goes, but I'm not making any promises. But here we are, the real kick-off of Sly's story. I'm super excited to get to Bentley and Murray, but there are a few other things that have to happen first. Interpol has yet to actually arrive, after all.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 2

Sly runs his fingers along his father's cane and stares down at the children's hospital blanket wrapped around his legs. There's a dog nurse writing something beside him and the rhino officer who – well he's here too, sitting on a chair by the door, but they haven't asked him anymore questions since the rhino finished talking to someone on his phone.

"There we go, you're all set," announces the nurse, clicking his pen. His nametag says 'Duke' and it's covered in green and purple sparkles, which keeps getting Sly's attention. "Fit as a fiddle and ready to take on the world."

He beams at Sly, who looks up at his face, to his nametag, then back down to the colorful polka-dot blanket. The rhino tries to cross his legs in front of him but the chair he's sitting in makes a weird noise, so he stops.

"That's great news, but he still can't leave the room right now, I'm sure someone has talked to you already." The officer says politely as Duke turns his way.

"Oh don't worry, I'm well aware of the situation." The dog smiles again. "You hear that, John? You'll have to stay here a little bit longer, but I'm sure we can keep you plenty entertained!"

Sly scowls at the fake name. That's what the rhino said he was called when – when Sly came to this place. He had told him that it was just because they didn't know Sly's real name, and that it was also supposed to 'keep him safe'.

The raccoon hates being treated like a dumb little kid, and he hates the fake name even more. That's not who he is. He's better than that stupid name, his _family_ is better. But every time Sly wants to tell them, something gets in his throat and he feels like he can't breathe. Like he's back where it's not safe, back where – well. It's easier to let these dumb adults play pretend, so he just won't say anything.

The dog nurse leaves after that, leaving Sly alone with the rhino who – did that. He doesn't want to think about that though, so he keeps staring at his bed. His fingers haven't stopped touching his father's cane.

After a while, the officer gets another call on his phone and leaves the room. There's a little window in the door, so Sly pretends to stare at the happy cartoon pictures on the wall and tries to watch the rhino when he's not looking. It's hard and he can't figure out why the man is making that face. Then he hangs up and walks back in, so Sly drops his head again.

"Listen, kiddo," he says, and Sly grips the cane tighter, "there are some people on their way to visit us right now, and they'll be here very soon. They'll be asking a lot of questions which…some of them I've already asked you, and some will be a lot different. I know you didn't want to talk to me before, I understand, but these guys work for a big police place called Interpol, alright? So I really want you to answer the questions this time, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Interpol. The name buzzes in the back of Sly's head like a fly. He knows that's supposed to mean something big, something important, so he nods his head a little bit. The rhino nods back and sits down on the creaky chair, grabbing a magazine on the counter next to him.

It takes over an hour for the Interpol people to show up, and Sly knows this because of the clock above the door that tick, ticks while he sits and stares at nothing. There are two of them, and they come in with shiny badges held up by their faces as the rhino officer stands up really quick.

"I'm Chief Inspector Pennington," says the lady elephant. She puts her badge away and folds her arms over her chest with her trunk held high, and Sly decides he doesn't like her.

"And I'm Detective Inspector Singh," says the guy bear. He smiles at Sly, then looks down at the Cooper cane and frowns, and Sly decides he doesn't like him either.

"Ah, great, wonderful," the rhino shifts side to side. "Do you need me to, uh, I mean I've already tried asking the kit a few questions, do you want to know what I've asked?"

"What questions has he answered?" Inspector Pennington asks, peering around the hospital room like it's disgusting.

"Well, he hasn't answered any yet, but –"

"Then your presence isn't necessary." She waves him away. "Thank you for your work tonight, but this is now a classified Interpol investigation. Authorized personnel only."

The rhino officer sort of blinks rapidly and shuffles out of the door in a daze. Sly watches him go with a nervous pit in his stomach. The man wasn't all that great, but he was still much better than these two, and he _did _get Sly out of – well, it's almost hard to see him leave.

As soon as the door is closed again, Inspector Singh pulls the chair over to the side of the bed and sits down, clasping his hands together very nicely. He gives Sly a very sad look.

"Hey there buddy, sounds like it's been a rough night, huh? How are you doing?"

Sly stares at him. The bear tilts his head and uses a different approach.

"Did the nice police officer tell you why we're here?" He smiles when Sly slowly nods. "Great! So we'll just start with the easy questions. You heard me introduce myself, but I don't know who you are. What's your name?"

Sly touches the sharp edges of his father's cane. He's not sure if they want his real name or the stupid fake one. To be safe, he points carefully at the end of the bed, where Duke the Nurse put down his clipboard. Inspector Pennington comes over and picks it up to read. Her face gets all pinched.

"They have Cooper's son listed as John Doe," she hands the clipboard to her partner. "We won't get anything from this, it's useless."

"Alright, we'll try again then." The bear rubs his cheek and gives another smile. It's starting to look more like he's grimacing. "I know what the hospital has been calling you, bucko, but it's really important to get your real name. Can you tell us?"

This is the part where Sly is supposed to set them straight. Tell them his full name with pride like he's done all his life, and then tell them what happened because that's what his father used to say, 'half the fun of stealing from criminals is leading the law right to them, kiddo, letting them get their just desserts'. He needs to tell them so they can catch the bad guys.

So Sly opens his mouth and he –

He.

The inspectors wait patiently for something to happen. When nothing does, they glance at each other like they aren't surprised, like they were expecting this. Sly wants to ask them what's going on, but that isn't coming out either. Nothing is coming out. It's getting hard to breathe again, so Sly closes his mouth and stares at the blanket until the thing is out of his throat.

"Alrighty, it's okay if you don't want to tell us your name. I can just call you 'kiddo', is that okay?" It's absolutely not okay, but the words still won't come. "Let's talk about why we came here instead. I'm really sorry to have to tell you this, kiddo, but your father was a criminal. He wasn't a very nice person and he did a lot of bad things to good people."

Inspector Singh pauses as if he thinks Sly is supposed to do something about this information. Sly just runs his fingers along the cane, waiting for the lump to go away so he doesn't feel lightheaded anymore. The bear purses his lips and continues.

"I know it's been a hard night for you, kiddo, but we need to know what happened."

"We know what happened," Inspector Pennington interrupts. "Cooper finally got too in over his head. What we need to know is who did it."

The bear sighs and rubs his nose. "Yes, thank you. Okay kiddo? Can you tell us anything about who did this? What they might have looked like, if there was more than one person?"

When Sly starts to open his mouth again the room feels like it's tilting to the side, so he doesn't do that.

"You don't have anything to tell us? Anything at all?"

He wants to though, he doesn't want to think about it but he needs to tell them because that's what his father would do if he were here, he'd lead them right to the bad guys because that's what Coopers are supposed to do. But Coopers are also supposed to be thieves, and thieves only say anything when they're safe, and he can't say anything because –

"You're not going to talk at all?"

He doesn't feel safe at all.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Pennington snaps. She leans over the bed and scowls at the raccoon kit. "I know your criminal parents probably told you never to talk to officers of the law, but they're gone now, you understand?"

Sly clutches his father's cane close to his chest. He feels his lips trembling and clenches his jaw so this horrible person can't see. Inspector Singh looks back and forth, a frown growing on his face.

"Francine, I think you're pushing too hard. He's just a kid."

"He's _Cooper's _kid, don't you dare forget that. The bastard probably taught him to hate us, or be non-cooperative. That's what you're doing," she turns back to Sly. "You're obstructing justice. Someone killed Cooper and his wife and you're wasting our time instead of telling us what we need to know."

But Sly wants to tell them, can't she see that? He wants to tell them his name, tell them all about how strong his mother is and how gentle his father is and ask them why they're saying such awful things about his family when they don't know, _they don't know anything about me or Dad or Mom, and I'm the only one who can tell them now because they're both gone. They're gone and I don't know what to do, I'm supposed to be a Cooper but Dad's gone and the book's gone and I don't know what to do._

The lump is back in Sly's throat and he can't breathe at all now and it's getting hard to think, and he only really hears the last thing the horrible elephant lady is saying.

" – a criminal weapon, I don't even know why they'd let you hold onto it."

Inspector Pennington takes the Cooper cane and takes it, takes it away from Sly and it's.

It's too much.

* * *

McHorn leans against the wall outside the little kit's hospital room and does his best not to hold his ear to the door to eavesdrop. He knows it will get him in a lot of trouble and it's probably illegal on every level. And besides, he's already tried it and could only get low murmured gibberish as a result.

His feet almost slip out from under him when the screaming starts.

It's a child's scream, strangled and panicked, and McHorn stumbles to open the door and dashes into the room. He sees two very startled inspectors, sees one of them holding the infamous cane that Connor Cooper used in all of his heists.

And he sees the raccoon kit screaming at the top of his lungs, shaking horribly with his arms stretched out as if he could pull the cane back to him by will alone.

"What the hell?!" He rushes up to the bed and picks the child up in an attempt to sooth him.

It has the opposite effect; the instant hands are on him the raccoon's cries reach a whole other octave and he struggles to get out of the rhino's grip. McHorn nearly drops the kit when he rocks backward in a textbook maneuver to smash a captor's nose with a skull.

"Jesus!" The officer bites his tongue to keep the string of profanity to himself and turns to the two inspectors who have finally broken out of their shock. "Help me!"

Inspector Singh rises out of his chair and tries to take ahold of the child's wrists, who responds by rotating his hands and slipping out effortlessly, still screaming and reaching for the Cooper cane. McHorn realizes belatedly that the kid is probably on autopilot.

Inspector Pennington steps away with the cane, irritation clear across her features. She looks like she's going to leave the room, but there's suddenly another presence in the doorway.

It's the children's nurse, Duke, taking in the scene with wide eyes. His gaze dances between the two officers trying to restrain the thrashing raccoon kit and the third holding what the kit is obviously freaking out over. He goes from alarmed to stormy stone in a heartbeat.

McHorn's not really sure what happens; one moment he's trying not to lose his horn from a panicked self-defense move and the next he and the two inspectors have been banished to the hallway as Duke locks the door behind them with the Cooper cane in his hands.

The screaming dies down soon after that, but the nurse doesn't open the door.

"Well," Inspector Singh shoves his hands in his pockets, completely nonchalant. "That could have gone a lot better."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the longer wait time, I haven't had much access to writing the last few weeks.**

**Fun fact: This chapter was supposed to cover a few more events, but Sly's POV got away from me and I thought that last line was a good cut-off. We'll see in the next one what else is going down, don't worry.**

**Hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 3

Inspector Francine Pennington doesn't have a lot of tolerance for wasting time.

She's been an Interpol inspector for over twelve years; been at Interpol itself for nearly twenty. She was assigned the Cooper case nine years ago, four years before it went cold. Before Connor Cooper decided to disappear into obscurity and made her job and her life that much more difficult.

Knowing now that he was married, that he had a child, has done little to temper the longstanding frustration she's been holding at the outside forces that prevent her from doing her job.

Currently, the forces preventing her from her job are a children's nurse and a locked door.

On Francine's left, the American rhino policeman wavers awkwardly, standing there with his bulk taking up half the hallway. Across from her, Inspector Bodie Singh leans against a wall and plays with something in his pocket. The elephant herself is practically pacing in front of the hospital door.

She stops only once to try and peer through the tiny window, then swears as she realizes that the nurse has pulled a blind down from inside.

"Calm down, Francine." Inspector Singh doesn't even look her way. "We'll be back in there in no time, that guy just needs to get the kid to stop freaking out."

"Don't lecture me!" She snaps. "You know how I feel about having my time wasted."

"Oh I'm well aware," he chuckles, pulling the thing out of his pocket. It's an unlit cigarette. "Ever thought about taking up the habit? It might help calm your nerves."

The inspector takes a lighter out of his other pocket, lights the stick, and drags out a single breath. Smoke puffs and curls around his snout. The American officer stares with his mouth open.

"You're – you're smoking in a hospital!" He whispers angrily. Inspector Singh smiles good-naturedly and grey vapor escapes the gaps in his teeth.

"It's not smoking if it's prescribed, friend. I'm just calming my nerves after that kid almost blew out my eardrums. Does wonders for my mental health, working in the field that I do. You want one?" He offers the cigarette to Francine.

"Put it away, Inspector." She crosses her arms. "You're going against protocol."

"Fine, fine," Bodie snuffs the flame out against his belt and brushes it off; ashes trickle to the tiled floor. He tucks the cigarette back into his pocket. "Just trying to pass the time. We might be here a while."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," the elephant mutters. She turns to the rhino, who's still staring at them. "Why are you still here?"

He blinks like the oaf she knows he is. "What do you mean?"

"We informed you that your assistance was no longer needed. And it's a confidential investigation, _and_ I could have you fired for interfering like you did."

The American officer's face gets red and blotchy. "Now hang on, I helped you when you scared the kid, you can't just threaten me like that!"

"I can and I will if you continue to ignore your superiors."

"What my partner _means_ to say," Bodie steps between the two and gives an easy smile, "is that it's been a taxing night for all of us and we'd rather you not have to worry about such a horrific situation any longer than necessary."

"I don't know." The rhino squints suspiciously. "He really didn't seem to like you, and I don't want him to get hurt anymore. I don't –"

"I know," Inspector Singh's eyes soften and his silver tongue waggles easily. "You're an incredible man, worrying about a child that's not your own. A remarkable trait needed in a good officer. But just like you're worried about him, there are people worried about you. We've lost too many good men to stress and PTSD. Don't let yourself be one of them. Please, take some time off. Go visit your family."

Francine sees the hesitation warring in the American's eyes, as well as the moment it loses to relinquishment.

"Okay," he says reluctantly, glancing at the door one more time. "But can you promise me he'll be alright?"

Bodie smiles sympathetically. "Cross my heart."

Both inspectors wait until the rhino officer disappears from the hall completely; when he's gone, Francine sighs and rubs her trunk.

"I hate having to play games like that, feels like I'm talking to children."

"Ah, but you're not the one playing games, silly," her partner looks mightily pleased with himself. "And you weren't very good at talking to that brat either."

"It was just as much your fault!" She grumbles, irritated. "Now we're just having more of our time wasted while Cooper's killers are long gone."

"Nothing to do about it but wait for now." Bodie sticks his hand back in his pocket but doesn't pull out the cigarette. "Will you stop pacing if I promise to stay quiet?"

"Deal." And she stops.

They stay still and silent for fifteen minutes more when the children's nurse finally opens the door and steps out into the hallway. He crosses his arms.

"Here's how it's gonna go," Duke says, dead serious. "The two of you will go back in that room with me as a supervisor. You are going to ask your questions, and you are _only_ going to ask questions. You're not touching that child, you're not touching his cane, and if I think there's even a hint of too much distress for him then you're out. Understand?"

"But, you can't do that though," Francine is in disbelief. "That directly impedes an official Interpol investigation, a classified one to boot, you can't just –"

"I can and I will." The nurse growls and his upper lip curls a bit. "I'm dedicated to the safety and wellbeing of my patients, and that includes this kit. I don't care how confidential it is, I don't care if this is inconvenient for you. That child has been through hell and I'm here to make sure he doesn't go through it again."

Duke braces himself in front of the door and looks between the two officers, waiting for acceptance or opposition. Inspector Singh quirks his mouth and sighs.

"I'm sorry, Francine, it looks like we don't have much of a choice." The bear takes his hand out of his pocket and pats it briefly as if to make sure the cigarette won't fall out. Then he steps up to the nurse and gives that easy smile.

"Fine," Francine growls. "But nothing better leave this room, you understand?"

"Of course not. This trust is a two-way street." The dog cracks open the door and slips inside. After a moment he sticks out a hand and beckons the officers to follow. Francine hustles forward impatiently and Inspector Singh trails behind her. They all look to the bed.

The kit sits upright, holding a large notepad and a blue glitter gel pen. The Cooper cane has been propped up so the hooked end is practically wrapped around his neck. It's a disturbing sight to Francine, who has personally seen that cane take out her comrades in near the exact same position. The child stares at the pen and doesn't look up as everyone settles into the room.

"Hi, sweetie," Duke murmurs as he crouches beside the bed. "We're back. Do you want to introduce yourself or would you like me to?"

They watch as the child runs his fingers along the Cooper cane. After a moment, he turns the notepad around and shows them the first page. It's two words, glittery-blue and written in shaky cursive.

_Sly Cooper_

Francine has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. There's no way this is the kit's real name. To her surprise and mild irritation, the nurse offers his hand to Cooper's son.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Sly Cooper."

Something passes along the child's face, the closest thing to a positive emotion any of the adults have seen from him the entire time. But it's gone just as quickly and careful blankness is the replacement. He takes the hand and shakes it once, then pulls back to wrap around the notebook and pen.

Bodie steps forward as if to say something, but Duke holds up a hand to keep him back. Then he leans forward to whisper to the kit. Francine can hear him anyway.

"Remember, you don't have to answer any questions you don't want to, alright? And if they need to leave, just give me the signal and I'll make sure they leave."

The raccoon places his right hand flatly against the center of his chest. He moves the hand in a clockwise motion.

"That's exactly right. You're a fast learner, Sly."

There's not another positive flicker; Cooper's son has completely turned to stone. He fiddles with the rings of the notebook. The nurse glances sideways at the inspectors and nods very briefly.

Bodie takes the lead again, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Well, I guess we can just get to the point. I asked you earlier if you saw what happened. Did you?"

Scribbling, scratchy pen on paper. The notebook is flipped around again.

_Yes_

"Great! Now we're getting somewhere." The inspector pauses when the child's eyes flicker up to him before trailing to the nurse at his bedside. "Shall I continue or, no?"

"…You can continue." Duke says softly, offering the palm of his hand which the kit takes and squeezes once.

"Alrighty. So kiddo, what's –" he stops when there's suddenly furious writing.

_Don't call me that_, is accompanied by furrowed little eyebrows, conveying an emotion somewhere between hard anger and a cracked chasm.

"Fair enough, fair enough. So what do you want me to call you?"

The child shifts his hands and points at his name. This time Francine does roll her eyes, but neither of them say anything when the nurse gives them a glare that Cooper's son can't see.

"I think you should ask your last few questions, Inspector." The dog suggests not-quite-cordially. "Busy officers like yourselves, we don't want to keep you waiting too long, right Sly?"

'Sly' doesn't respond to that in any way.

"Fine," Francine grits her teeth. "How many people attacked your house?"

The kit's mouth sets and he blinks rapidly, then puts down a single digit. It's the number 5. Bodie is already writing it down in his own notebook.

"Good, good job – uh, Sly. Is there anything you can tell us about those five criminals? What they looked like, what species, anything?"

There's a moment where it looks like they aren't going to get an answer, and the nurse sits up a little bit in preparation to kick the officers out, but that moment is gone in a clenched fist and determined eyes.

The raccoon child writes slowly, stroke after careful stroke. When he's finally satisfied, he hands the notepad to Duke, who reads it and in turn passes the thing to Singh. Both inspectors look over five words in blue glitter ink. One of them is misspelled but still recognizable.

_Frog. Dog. Aligater. Bear._

_Monster._

Francine feels her trunk twitch at the last one and lifts her head, but the kit is trembling again, rubbing his flat palm over his chest erratically. Duke stands and beckons them towards the door.

"I think this is the most you're going to get for now. If you need something else, I'd suggest coming back tomorrow at the very earliest."

His tone is curt but not quite unkind, so Bodie rips out the single page and gives the notebook back to the nurse in a show of good faith. Francine wants to scream at the unprofessionalism of it all.

"We'll be in contact if there's anything more. Come on, Francine." The bear takes her arm and pulls her gently away, and the last thing she sees before leaving the room is Duke holding the notebook out to Cooper's son, who has buried his face against his father's cane.

Neither inspector says anything until they're in the relative safety of their car. Then Bodie pulls the notebook page out of his jacket sleeve and uncrumples it.

"What do you want to do now?" He asks, brushing the crinkles out.

The elephant taps her trunk against the steering wheel. "As much as I hate to admit it, we probably aren't getting anything more out of Cooper's son for a while. Let's get back to Interpol headquarters and see if they found something useful from that house."

"Sounds good, lead the way."

* * *

"Here we go," Bodie hums cheerfully as he drops a short stack of papers on his partner's desk. "Birth certificates, marriage license, official homeowner documents, aaaand schoolwork."

Francine flicks through the first few pages, knowing they're all sorted exactly as he named them. Sure enough, the third document is the child's official birth certificate, with the name 'Sly Cooper' in bold, damning ink.

"He wasn't lying about his name." The elephant sits back in her chair and shakes her head, incredulous. "I can't believe this. Cooper's audacity, honestly."

"He was definitely something else," Bodie remarks as he snags the certificate from her and scans it. "Well, shit."

"What?"

"Kid turned eight yesterday."

They're both quiet for a minute. Francine feels something sink into her stomach and rubs her eyes with her trunk to distract from it.

"Well, no point dwelling on what we could have done better," she says firmly once the feeling has passed. "Right now we need to do our jobs. What else should I know about from this pile?"

"Mm, well, we've got a name for Cooper's wife at least: Charlotte James-Cooper. She hyphenated her maiden name when they married."

"That's bizarre."

"How so?"

The elephant touches the marriage certificate. "The Cooper family is notoriously prideful of their heritage. There's police records of both men and women who take the last name when they marry into the family."

"Almost sounds like the mafia."

"That's one way to look at it, I suppose. But it's extremely unusual that Connor's wife kept her last name, in a manner of speaking. In fact I've never heard of it."

"The man named his only child _Sly_, Francine. I think unusual is an understatement." Bodie flips through more of the documents and clicks his tongue. "Ooh, we got a homeschooler over here."

"What?" She leans forward to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, there are filled-out homework assignments in the child's cursive, marked as approved from some official homeschool organization.

"Looks like the mother was the teacher. Oh hey, he was doodling on this page, check it out."

There is indeed a little drawing of a stick-figure raccoon with a hat and cane, carrying a giant bag of money away from one end of the page, where an angry 'villain' in a cape is surrounded by police cars. The raccoon appears to be running towards the other end of the page, where another stick-figure raccoon is waving at him, hearts drawn around her head. Beside her is a much smaller raccoon, holding a pair of tiny canes in his hands. This little figure has a phrase scratched underneath it: _Sly Roichi Master Ninja Thief._

The two inspectors stare at the drawing a moment, taking it all in. Then Francine angrily crumples the paper and drops it in the wastebasket.

"Damn Cooper to hell, we were right. He was indoctrinating the kid." She grabs the rest of the school papers, looking for more evidence. It doesn't take long.

Doodles of Connor Cooper stealing from banks, people, police officers. Doodles of 'Sly Roichi Master Ninja Thief' – always labeled as such whenever he appears – doing backflips and scaling rooftops. Doodles of the mother beating up bad guys. Doodles of the whole family together, standing on a mountain of treasure. All the drawings have smiley faces above them, made in the same red ink as whoever graded the assignments. No words, just smileys.

But there's a single one near the end of the pile that has a real response; the drawing is of a hooded raccoon standing on top of a tree. Far above is either the moon or the sun – it's hard to tell when it's only a circle colored in yellow – and in its shadow is the giant, vague shape of a bird looming over everything.

The red ink sentence has been daintily scribbled in the space between the silhouette and the raccoon: _'please talk to your father about this after dinner tonight.'_

"That's a weird one," Bodie points out, making idle conversation. "Kid must've had a nightmare."

Francine lays that page flat and careful on her desk. "How much do you know about the Cooper family history?"

"Uh, besides the obvious? Not a whole lot. They were sneaky thief bastards, what else is there to know?"

She picks up the little notebook paper from the hospital visit, with four species and one nonsense idea being their only lead to Cooper's murderers. The inspector looks from the words to the drawing.

"Singh, go get me our records on the Fiendish Five."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm pretty sure I know who the perpetrators are," she says slowly, "and if I'm right, then this just got a lot harder."

* * *

**A/N: This took longer than planned but I've been so busy it's a miracle I got it out this week, honestly. Thanks for reading, and have a nice day!**


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